


Learning Curve

by 221BeStillMyHeart (HighTimesWithHiddles), eragon19



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Abuse, Bottom John, Daddy Kink, John is not a wilting flower, John is not underage, John's father is terrible, M/M, Older Sherlock, Sherlock is Sherlock, Sugar Daddy Sherlock, Switching, Top Sherlock, Toys, University Student John, Younger John, middle aged sherlock
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-03
Updated: 2018-07-12
Packaged: 2018-10-14 08:08:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10532370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HighTimesWithHiddles/pseuds/221BeStillMyHeart, https://archiveofourown.org/users/eragon19/pseuds/eragon19
Summary: What happens when you mix a wealthy middle aged consulting detective with a young pre med barista in a stew of abuse, danger, and intrigue?More than either of them ever expected.





	1. Chapter 1

Sherlock stops in the café just beside the flat of an old friend of his, and waits for his newest enemy to show.

Well, “enemy” is overstating things a bit. Firstly because the simpleton in question isn't smart enough to carry off an art heist. 

Clearly he’s nowhere in the same _realm_ as Sherlock so far as intelligence is concerned, and Sherlock’s not in the habit of giving status to morons. It takes a brain to become an enemy of Sherlock Holmes.

Also, the man doesn't even know he exists, and Sherlock supposes a man’s enemy should at least know his face. 

He steps inside and does a sweep of the room. Once he’s sure his suspect isn't there, he turns to join queue for coffee, and pulls out his phone to send a text to Lestrade. 

He doesn’t look away from his phone, even when he reaches the front of the queue. He simply rattles off his usual order, fingers tapping away at the dimly lit screen.

“Having here, or to go?” a tired voice asks. Sherlock looks up and the ‘to go’ on his lips vanishes when he sets eyes on the boy behind the counter. 

The young man is blond, shorter than the nation’s average, with tanned skin and the deepest blue eyes Sherlock’s seen in a long while. A quick scan tells Sherlock everything he needs to know; the boy’s a uni student, clearly pre-med, a scholarship student and rugby player. He’s also one of the most physically attractive people Sherlock has ever seen.

“Sir?” the barista says, breaking into his thoughts, “Having here, or to go?” he sounds both annoyed and a little concerned, which makes Sherlock realise he’s been staring for longer than socially acceptable. 

“Here.” he says, and feels the corner of his lips turn up as the boy’s eyes widen ever so slightly at the sound of his voice. 

“Anything else for you today sir?” the barista asks and the smile spreads over Sherlock's mouth as he tries to stamp down the shiver caused by the young man’s unwitting use of one of his favorite titles. He pictures those rose pink lips forming the honorific he likes most and has to shake himself back into the present.

“Just the coffee.” Sherlock responds, watching as the boy’s shoulders slump almost imperceptibly.

“And maybe the story behind that big rugby bruise on your shoulder.” he tacks on at the end, a small smile catching at the corner of his mouth when the barista’s mouth drops open and his hand flies up to the bruise in question.

“H-how did you know?” The boy asks.

Sherlock grins, “It was simple enough really. You’re clearly in good shape, going by the breadth of your shoulders and the definition of your biceps. This could mean regular time at the gym, but you’re also clearly a uni student, pre-med, if the bags under your eyes and the skin of your hands have anything to say about it . They’re dry, obviously washed often, and with medical grade soap given the scent of you. Now as for the bruise. You’re left handed, calluses are telling, but you're using your right hand to work the register. You keep forgetting and lifting your left arm to enter an order, whenever you do this you wince. So, why would a pre-med uni student have an injury bad enough to cause him to use his non-dominant hand? Easy, he plays a sport. Rugby, to be exact, considering the rugby shirt he’s wearing beneath his work apron. He was hurt during his last match. I know it was a match because no team mate would hit you hard enough to risk injury.”

Sherlock was grinning by then end, pleased with how neatly he’d presented the facts.

The barista gaped at him, his eyebrows furrowed. As he stared, Sherock slowly felt his smile fade, perhaps he’d gone too far. 

“That was amazing.” the barista said, each word filled with awe.

“Really?” Sherlock said, the words coming out before he could stop them. “You really think so?”

“Yeah! Yeah, I really do. That was astounding!” The boy was grinning now, big and bright and Sherlock feels his stomach flutter.

“That’s- that’s not what people usually say,” he says, still stunned at such a glowing reception.

“What do they usually say?” the boy asks, still smiling, though there was an element of interest in his eyes now.

“Piss off.” Sherlock says, grinning widely as the boy burst into laughter.

“Well what do they know? People are idiots.” the boy replies, blue eyes twinkling with lingering mirth.

“Apparently nothing at all.” Sherlock answers, looking down into eyes so blue he immediately comes up with plans to replicate that exact shade with the chemicals he has back at the flat. Nothing should catch fire this time, besides, he has a suppression system these days. 

Sherlock watches John stir two sugars into a tall cup of black coffee.

“2 pounds fifty please.” he says, and Sherlock only then notices that there's a mildly exasperated woman behind him in line.

Sherlock swipes his card, and thinks. He wants to say more but he doesn't know what. He steps aside to the woman behind him order, when it hits him.

The _case_.

The reason he’d come here in the first place was to verify that this cafe was indeed patronized daily by his suspect. He may even catch the man today with a bit of luck. All of this means he’ll need to speak to the barista again, which was a plus. 

He leans casually against the end of the counter, one foot crossed in front of the other and his free hand in his pocket as he waits for the young man to finish dealing with his customers. He flicks his eyes around the little shop, deducing the patrons to keep himself occupied. 

Out of the corner of his eyes he sees the barista glancing at him, their eyes meet as Sherlock catches him looking and the boy’s cheeks flush pink. Sherlock smirks and takes a sip of his, frankly terrible, coffee.

Finally the boy’s free. He makes his way over to sherlock, smiling, a rag in hand to wipe down the counter.

“Sherlock Holmes,” Sherlock says, sticking a hand across the counter when the boy is in front of him.

“John,” the bar- _John_ says, grasping his hand firmly and making Sherlock wish he’d taken off his gloves. John’s hand is small and strong in his grasp, completely enveloped in Sherlock’s larger one.

“I wonder, do you think you can guess what I do for a living?” Sherlock asks, and John’s brow furrows.

“I'm thinking, based on how you read me.... private detective?” he answers, and Sherlock smiles.

“Good guess, but not quite. I'm a consulting detective. The only one in the world. I invented the job. It means when the police are out of their depth, which is always, they call me,” he states calmly, a small, smug smile tipping his lips at John’s awed expression. 

“I’m here working on a case, an art theft worth millions. Do you happen to have a customer through here often? Middle aged, well dressed, always carrying an old beaten black leather briefcase?” Sherlock asks and John looks puzzled for a long moment, thinking back while Sherlock waits.

And then those blue eyes light up and flash with fire.

“Mr. Prescott! Rude arsehole, always on his phone, always in a suit, and-

John stops and blushes, just realizing he’s pretty much described the man in front of him. Sherlock smirks at the pretty blush covering the boy’s cheeks and gestures for him to continue.

“You’re doing beautifully John, go on.”

John’s blush deepens as he continues, and Sherlock feels a thrill go through him, apparently John likes praise. 

“He always has that briefcase that he sits in the chair next to him, on the inside so no one can touch it.” John answers, looking up at Sherlock with bright eyes and an eager smile.

“That's perfect John. Has he been in today?” Sherlock asks, and John shakes his head. No not yet, his eyes dart over to the clock.

“Should be in about 20 minutes though. He’s never late,” he responds and Sherlock rewards him with a small, genuine smile.

“Just in time then. Would you signal me when he gets here?” Sherlock asks.”You signal me, and _I’ll_ signal the police. they’ll come, and I’ll link him to the crimes, after which he’ll be arrested.”

“Is he dangerous at all?” John asks, and Sherlock nods.

“He killed the guard at the art museum.” Sherlock explains and John’s face hardens.

“Then yes. I can absolutely help you,” he says, and when Sherlock looks over at him with a question in his eyes, John answers it.

“I don't like bullies,” he sneers.

Sherlock nods, mirroring John’s sentiment on the issue and storing away what this new informations means about John.

Giving John a small smile he heads over to a table by the large front window, where he has a good view of the people coming and going, and John at the register. He pulls his phone out and feigns texting, knowing sitting idle would make people suspicious. 

As hard as he tries to keep his mind on the case and the case alone, his eyes keep flicking up to observe John. There’s a lull in customers at the moment, which leaves John time to tend to his other duties which seem to involve climbing a short step ladder to retrieve a stack of foam cups, and then wiping down the counters.

Sherlock watches the stretch of John’s arms as he reaches for the cups, his eyes honing in on the sliver of tan skin revealed as his shirt rides up. He has to stifle a smile at John having to stretch on tiptoe, even on the ladder, to reach what he needs. 

Sherlock’s observations are interrupted by the door opening. A short man in a rumpled suit enters, a large briefcase clutched in one sweaty hand. Sherlock perks up and locks his eyes onto John as the man approaches the counter texting rapidly. 

John’s eyes meet his and he nods once, subtly confirming the man is indeed Prescott. 

Sherlock quickly texts Lestrade his location and then keeps his eyes on the two men at the counter, suddenly feeling very uncomfortable with John only feet away from a murderer. John, for his part, acts quite naturally, though there’s a hardness in his eyes that show just how loathsome he finds Prescott.

Prescott doesn’t even notice. He barks his order at John, texting all the while, and takes forever to fish his card out of his wallet. When he finally hands his card over John politely tells him the machine is out of service. Prescott scowls and Sherlock’s lips press together in anger as he proceeds to berate John for shoddy service while fishing out his money. 

John takes it all in stride, his polite smile firmly in place as he puts through Prescott’s order. 

While making the man’s drink he catches Sherlock’s eye and winks before quickly looking away. He whips up Prescott’s order and Sherlock drums his fingers on the tabletop wondering why the hell Lestrade was taking so long. 

Then John, wonderful John, does the unexpected. As he’s handing Prescott his order he very deliberately (at least to Sherlock) drops the cup, causing it to spill all over the counter and splatter onto Prescott’s suit. 

Sherlock feels a smile spread over his face at John’s tactic to delay the man, though the smile quickly fades at Prescott’s reaction.

The man stares at John, his expression morphing into pure rage as he takes in the mess.

“You bloody idiot!” he shouts, causing the coffee shop to fall silent. “Look at what the fuck you did!”

“I’m so sorry!” John cries, trying his hardest to look contrite, but the smile in his eyes ruining the attempt. 

Prescott doesn’t notice, too busy swiping at the stains on his suit. When he does look back at John, his eyes are dangerous and Sherlock finds himself quietly standing up, ready to intervene.

At that moment he sees Lestrade’s unmarked car pull up in front of the coffee shop with two black and whites behind him, sirens off just as Sherlock had told him. 

In almost no time at all Lestrade is striding up to Prescott and clamping a hand onto his shoulder, two uniformed constables close behind him. In a matter of moments, Prescott is in cuffs and being dragged outside. Lestrade grins at Sherlock in thanks on the way out and motions for him to follow them outside, no doubt to express his gratitude further. 

Sherlock ignores him and the commotion the arrest has caused in the coffee shop and heads over to John.

“See? You just helped put a murderer behind bars. Well done John.” Sherlock offers and isn't disappointed when John’s cheeks go red and his eyes drop, breaking their contact with Sherlock’s.

“Thank you. I'm glad I could be of some help. Always good to have less murderers on the streets.” he says as he picks up his rag and begins cleaning the earlier spill from the counter. 

Sherlock buttons his coat, and a small flashing in his periphery catches his eye. He looks down to see the chip reader, blinking the words “insert card here” and in perfect working order. 

“Broken, hmm?” he asks and John smiles smugly.

“Well I couldn't just let him _leave_. If you're here to catch a murderer, then it’s likely you’d want to keep him in one spot. Minimize the blast radius.” He says with a grin, and Sherlock chuckles, low and rumbling. His eyes narrowing and lips pulling into a smirk when John bites his lower lip at the sound, unable to fight back the shudder that shakes through him.

“That's good work John.” Sherlock says, wrapping his scarf around his neck and turning to leave.

“Anytime.” John responds, and Sherlock turns back and is almost startled by the blatant longing in John’s eyes.

“Come back and see me again, yeah?” John asks looking nervous and all the sweeter for it. 

Sherlock is nodding before he knows he’s done so.

“That can be arranged, I'm sure.” he answers and and the sweet smile that spreads across John’s face is more than worth every single drop of bad coffee Sherlock is going to have to drink the next time he visits Speedy’s.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and John bond.

The next morning Sherlock decides to go back to Speedy’s and tell John the more specific details of the case. The young man actually managed to be more than mildly helpful, that kind of person deserves to know when he's done well. Plus, he can’t seem to get John’s blue eyes and wry smile out his head. Sherlock isn't given to giving compliments, but he can address talent as he recognizes it. 

And if he gets to see those ocean blue eyes peeking up at him through a frame of golden lashes again? Well, surely that's just coincidental.

It's early, and just after the morning rush when Sherlock steps in. The shop is completely empty but for John, and from the moment Sherlock starts speaking John is rapt. 

Sherlock can’t help but stare at those wide blue eyes. The thoughtful and amused expressions that take themselves in turns as he lays out the details of the case for John. His smirk slowly morphs into a smile with each ‘amazing’ and ‘brilliant’ that falls from John’s lips. He rounds off his story with a joke about the criminal, that has the desired effect of making John laugh, and Sherlock, to his surprise, finds himself laughing as well.

“Would you like a coffee?” John asks, still laughing slightly.

“Black two sugars,” Sherlock says, watching with glee as John climbs the short step ladder to reach what he needs. Sherlock looks on, expecting to get the same lovely view of John’s arse and thighs as he did last time, and the young man does not disappoint.

He comes down from his perch and makes Sherlock yet another truly awful cup of coffee. After he sets it down in front of him, Sherlock gestures for John to have a seat, and Sherlock begins laying out all the small details and how, exactly, John helped.

After that Speedy's in the morning becomes the only routine in Sherlock's day. He gets up and makes sure to perfectly time himself to miss the morning rush, so that he has an almost uninterrupted hour of the barista’s time.

Two blissful weeks go by. Sherlock has taken to talking out cases, John just sitting there in fascination as Sherlock solves crimes in his head with nothing more than a file folder and a few pictures. 

When Sherlock runs out of interesting tidbits, because unfortunately the _fun_ cases don't grow on trees, he deduces the customers and passersby for both of their amusement. It's become one of his favorite pastimes, laughing conspiratorially with John at particularly interesting, or embarrassing bits of other people's lives.

Today has been more quiet than he can remember. John seems lost in himself. Caught up in his own head the way Sherlock usually finds himself when he’s not in John’s company. The young man’s laugh is hollow and those deep blue eyes are empty. Sherlock almost flinches away from the flat, dead gaze, but he finds he can't. He can't just walk away and go find a new toy to entertain himself, because John isn't a toy. John is _real_. More perfectly human than anyone he’s ever met.

Before he can find the words to ask John moves away to go make him a fresh cup of coffee, and Sherlock turns away because it feels _wrong_ to ogle him in the state he’s in. He keeps his gaze down for a long as he can, before his eyes flick up toward the stocky body on the stepladder of their own accord.

What he sees when John’s shirt rides up stops him cold. 

“Why is your father beating you and why are you letting him?” Sherlock asks, low and succinct, straight through the bullshit and right to the point.

John’s beautiful eyes spread wide.

“I… What do you?” he stammers before stepping down, standing tall and staring Sherlock straight through. “I'm sure I don't know what you’re talking about.”

Sherlock peers down at him.

“You’ve seen what I can do. Don't lie to me, it won't work.” He says in a low tone, easy and open. He wants to help, if John will stop being stubborn long enough to accept it from him.

John stares straight ahead, jaw set and chin raised high. 

He doesn't say a word.

Sherlock stands and reaches into his jacket pocket, drawing out a small white card and placing it on the counter before John.

“If you get tired of it, call me. I can help you.” He says quietly, then he picks up his things and leaves the cafe. He’s sure John would like some time alone. He expects John will call him within the next few days anyway.

He’s wrong.

A week passes with no word from John. Sherlock has been to the cafe twice, he hasn’t gone inside, but has observed John from across the street. The young man carries on as usual, serving drinks and making small talk. Only Sherlock seems to notice how much more tired he seems to look with each visit, with dark circles under his eyes, that bright blue gaze dulled by stress and fatigue. 

He’s sitting home in his flat one night, working on an experiment when the rarely used landline begins to ring. 

Scowling, he ignores it. A few moments of silence pass and the ringing starts up again. 

Huffing in annoyance, he tears off his gloves and strides to the phone.

“Yes, what is it?” he growls into the receiver.

“Sir, there’s a… gentleman….here to see you,” the doorman murmurs.

If it weren’t for the obvious hesitation over the word gentleman, Sherlock would have thought it was Mycroft. Clearly the doorman disapproves of whoever his visitor was, as if Sherlock cares what he thinks.

“Well, who is it?” he asks impatiently.

“John Watson, Sir, he says he knows you.”

Sherlock’s stomach drops, John coming to him means something dire has happened.

“Send him up,” he says briskly, before hanging up and going to switch off his bunsen burner.

A few minutes later there’s a tentative knock on the door.

Sherlock wrenches it open and the sight of John on the other side makes fury uncoil low in his gut. 

John has been beaten. Badly. 

Sherlock’s eyes flick over him, quickly assessing his injuries, both visible and otherwise. A black eye, bloody nose, bruised ribs and wrenched shoulder. 

His fury intensifies.

“Come in,” he says briskly, stepping aside for John to enter. 

John steps inside, jacket and jeans dripping rain on the rug, his eyes downcast and his head just slightly bowed.

“I can't go back.” John says quietly, and Sherlock just shuts the door.

He steers John by the shoulders through the flat and into the loo, stopping by his bedroom for pyjama bottoms, socks, and a t shirt. Once inside he sets his bundle on the counter and sets out a toothbrush and soap.

“Have a warm shower, get clean, and when you come out we’ll have dinner and we can talk about what you would like to do.” Sherlock bargains and John is too tired even to argue. 

He simply thanks Sherlock, and waits till he closes the door behind him to begin the painful process of getting out of his clothes.

Sherlock stops outside the bathroom door, and presses fingertips to his temple in a vain attempt to assuage the anger. Just as he’s releasing a deep breath, he hears John suck in a low, hissing, pained breath, and all his hard work at relaxing is wasted. His vision goes red and he’s had enough.

He stalks off to the living room and grabs up his phone.

“Mycroft,” he growls, as soon as his brother answers. “I need your…”

His words trail off before he can finish his request. This isn’t his decision to make, it’s _John’s_. 

“Yes Sherlock?” Mycroft says, sounding impatient. 

“I may need your help later.” Sherlock continues lamely, knowing just hanging up will have Mycroft’s minions at his door before the next ten minutes is past.

“You _may_ need my help?” Mycroft asks, sounding smug, “This wouldn't have anything to do with a certain barista, would it?” 

His smugness isn’t helping Sherlock's temper. Pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and fore finger he tries to calm down. It wouldn’t do to have John see him in a rage, not after what he’s been through tonight.

“I’ll call you,” he growls at Mycroft, before hanging up, hoping the force he used to hit the end button will give Mycroft an ear ache.

He strides over to his living room and begins to pace, trying to figure out the best way to deal with Mr. Watson. No doubt John will say he can handle it himself, so Sherlock needs to have his counter arguments ready.

Lost in his own thoughts he doesn't hear John until the young man steps into the living room, a weary look on his face.

Sherlock tries to smile at him but it feels all wrong on his face.

“How was your shower?” he asks, and immediately regrets the inane question.

“Wet,” John says, the corner of his mouth lifting a little.

Sherlock cracks his own smile and opens his mouth to respond when there’s a knock at the door. John tenses and Sherlock mentally swears at whoever is on the other side.

He strides to the door and yanks it open, ready to give the nosy doorman an earful. Instead a delivery boy holding a large bag greets him.

_’Bloody interfering Mycroft’ _Sherlock thinks as he takes the bag and finds out the food was already paid for.__

__“Hungry?” he calls to John, gritting his teeth when John flinches at the volume of his voice._ _

__“Are you hungry?” he asks softly, gesturing toward the kitchen._ _

__John looks at him a moment, his gaze wary, before he nods, his arms wrapped around himself as he silently follows Sherlock._ _

__Sherlock tries to keep his breathing even, his mind filled with plans to end John’s father’s life in the most painful ways conceivable as he takes the take away to the kitchen table._ _

__Sherlock waves a hand at an empty chair, gesturing for John to sit as he takes plates from the cabinet. He peers at them long and hard, trying to remember the last thing he _did_ on these plates and then decides to wash them anyway. No need to chance poisoning John. The poor boy is dealing with enough at the moment._ _

__Sherlock gives the dishes a good scrub and dry, then sets everything in the table and begins to dish up the still hot Cantonese food Mycroft sent over._ _

__It annoys him how good it all looks._ _

__John attacks his food, and Sherlock starts to wonder if beatings are the only thing John’s father is using as a form of control._ _

__Given the speed he’s eating at, as if he’s afraid it will be taken away at any moment, Sherlock thinks not._ _

__A fresh wave of burning rage rolls over him, but he looks down into his food and takes a small bite, not wanting to make John self conscious._ _

__When the food is gone and the dishes are cleared, Sherlock stands and motions John back into the living room to talk._ _

__“Do you need medical attention?” Sherlock asks, and John shakes his head no. “Nothing I haven't dealt with before, he just went a bit far this time around.” John says quietly and Sherlock clenches his teeth in anger._ _

__“Do you eat regularly?” Sherlock asks bluntly, and the tips of John’s ears go red as his eyes drop to the floor._ _

__“My dad, he locks the refrigerator and cabinets at night. If I steal, he knows. It's not worth it. I make do pretty well with what I make from the café, but I had to buy schoolbooks and I just ran out of money. I’ve been eating the stale throw aways from Speedy's for about a week now.” John explains and Sherlock’s fingers clench into large, heavy fists._ _

__“I'm going to handle this.” He says through clenched teeth and John’s eyes shoot up to Sherlock’s._ _

__“I can handle it myself.” He says firmly, bruised chin lifting with pride even as the struggles to open his left eye around the swollen, rapidly darkening skin around it._ _

__“Yes, but I'm going to.” Sherlock responds, voice strong and confident. As if there was never another option to consider._ _

__John nods and drops his head again, and he winces a bit when Sherlock puts a finger beneath his chin and lifts his head again._ _

__“Don't cower. You're stronger than that. And don't worry about your tuition either, we’ll get it all worked out. You just enjoy not having to ever go back, because John, you are never going back. Are we clear?” Sherlock asks, and John meets his eyes and nods._ _

__“Good. One more question?” Sherlock asks and John peers up at him through golden lashes._ _

__“Ask away.” he answers, and Sherlock sits in the chair across from him and pins him with the cold, clear gaze of an angry man._ _

__“Do you love your father, John?” He asks in a soft tone and John _growls_._ _

__“I hate him. I hate him with every fibre of my being. I only stuck around for so long because he paid for my school, and it seemed like a better alternative to being homeless. Even though I suppose that’s what I am now.” he says, sighing at letting his head fall into his hands._ _

__Sherlock’s heart clenches as John’s shoulders begin to shake._ _

__“Oh good, that’ll make this much easier.” Sherlock replies, then moves to crouch in front of John and peel his hands away from a face he finds wet with tears._ _

__“If you honestly think I’d allow you to be homeless, you haven't observed very much about me these last few weeks. And here I thought I had taught you at least a _little_ bit better than that.” he says, pulling the handkerchief from his jacket pocket and gently wiping the tears from John's eyes. _ _

__“You’ll stay here-” he says and John goes to cut him off but he doesn't allow it._ _

__“Please don't argue, that would be terribly dull. You’ll stay the night and tomorrow I’ll take you to see a friend that owes me a favor, she’ll rent you a place you can afford on your Speedy’s salary.” Sherlock explains and John’s eyes light up,_ _

__“I… I don't know what to say.” John stammers, and Sherlock stands and leads him to the guest room._ _

__“Say yes.”_ _

__John smiles slightly as he follows Sherlock to the bedroom._ _

__“Yes, Sherlock. Thank you so much I- I-”_ _

__His eyes fill again and Sherlock fights every urge within him to stop himself from wrapping John in his arms. He knows the young man wouldn't appreciate it, not now. John isn't the type to enjoy being coddled._ _

__“It’s no trouble at all John.” he says instead, and John gives him a shaky smile._ _

__Minutes later, with John tucked safely in the guest room, Sherlock retreats to his own bedroom and pulls out his mobile._ _

__“Two calls in one day, my my Sherlock I almost feel _special_ ,”Mycroft purrs down the line._ _

__“Did you know?” Sherlock growls, his free hand a tight fist at his side._ _

__“Know that John Watson is currently in your flat? Of course I do. I worry you know.” Mycroft says, his tone equal parts amused and smarmy._ _

__“No, did you know about the- the _abuse _.” Sherlock spits.___ _

____Mycroft’s silence says it all._ _ _ _

____“How could you miss it! You had your minions comb all through his past and you missed _that _?!” Sherlock hisses angrily.___ _ _ _

______There’s another beat of silence, “How do you plan to deal with Mr. Watson, I assume you _are _going to deal with him?” Mycroft asks tersely.___ _ _ _ _ _

________“I want him gone. Dead, and I want it painful.” Sherlock growls._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“Go on.” Mycroft urges._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“He keeps the food locked away from John and beats him when he gets hungry enough to steal. Let's give him something _fun_ to eat.” he says with a glint in his eye._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Sherlock can hear Mycroft's shark-like grin on the other end of the line._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“Yes. Let's”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________A truly frightening smile crosses Sherlock’s face as he outlines what he has in mind for Mr. Watson._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Some people just _have_ to learn the hard way._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let us know what you think!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and John talk, Mr Watson gets his comeuppance.

John woke with a jump, his eyes snapping wide open. For a moment he panics, wondering where the hell he was as the unfamiliar room came into view. 

Then the memories of last night come flooding back; his father getting pissed over the missing food, and hitting John over and over before kicking him when he fell. John had managed to scrape himself off the floor and run to the only person who felt safe; Sherlock.

Sitting up, he surveyed the room he’d been too tired to notice earlier. It was larger than John’s old room by far, and done up in various shades of blue. The furniture was warm cherry wood, and looked like it came straight out of those magazines his mum had liked to sigh over when she was still alive.

Shoving the thought from his mind, John sat up and swung out of the four poster bed, his feet practically sinking into the carpet. 

Scrubbing a hand through his hair, he cautiously opened his bedroom door and peeked out. The flat was dead silent and felt still. Years of practise let him know it was empty. Sighing and wondering where Sherlock could have gotten to, John headed into the living room. The huge windows showed him it was still dark out,the London eye glowing in the distance. 

Finding himself alone, John took a moment to look around. The living room was large, with an impressive flat screen mounted on the wall opposite a plush sofa large enough to seat six. Two large leather armchairs took up the other wall, a tiny table between them. 

The furniture was very modern, with clean sleek lines, that totally went against the clutter that took up the rest of the space; books were spilling out the the shelves on either side of the telly, the coffee table in front of the couch was littered with papers and a multitude of other junk, and an honest to God skull was perched on the table between the arm chairs. 

John found himself smiling slightly as he took in the space, it screamed Sherlock in so many ways that he couldn’t help but be immediately fond of everything about it. 

Abandoning the living room, he headed into the kitchen. His eyes immediately landed on the note stuck to the fridge. 

_John,_

_I needed to step out for a bit this evening, but I’ll be back in time for breakfast. Please don’t hesitate to help yourself to anything in the kitchen._

_I mean it._

_-SH_

 

The paper in John’s hands began shivering and it took him a moment to realize it was his own hands shaking as he clutched it. 

John turns and presses the paper flat to the table, leaving it lying there, crisp and commanding. He scans the kitchen and the whole of it intimidates him. Everything is sparkling, polished to a shine. He’s afraid to touch anything, he doesn't want to make a mess and upset Sherlock before he even manages to find a new place to stay. 

John shuffles over to the breadbox, and takes a single slice of bread out, and slips it into the toaster next to it. 

Toast, the breakfast of champions.

He decides he _would_ indeed like a cup of tea, but the tea is far too high and there are one too many choices so he gets a glass and fills it with water from the tap, and stands over the sink while eating his toast so as not to make crumbs.

When he finishes, he dusts his fingers off, then runs the tap again to wash his glass and clear the sink of any bits still left. When he finishes, he snags a paper towel and wipes the inside of the sink dry, leaving no trace of his breakfast. 

He’s learned a lot of these tricks with his dad.

He glances at the clock, and blinks hard when it reads 3:48 a.m.

He supposed he should… go back to sleep?

He pads lightly back to the room he woke up in, and climbs gingerly back into the largest bed he's ever been in. 

He honestly didn't even know beds came this big, and he wonders why any one person could need so much space. 

He curls up under the heavy duvet, pulling it up to his eyes, knowing that sleep is going to be a long time off.

He’s right. 

Two hours later John hears Sherlock's expensive shoes against the hardwood floors and hears them come to a halt outside his bedroom door.

“John, I know you’re awake. Come out please?” Sherlock says in a calm, easy tone that makes John breathe a sigh of relief and remember that here, at least, he is safe.

John hurries to the door then stops, takes a deep breath, and pulls it open.

“Yes Mr. Holmes?” he asks, and he can't quite bring himself to meet Sherlock’s eyes.

“Come into the kitchen please.” Sherlock responds in that same, easy tone.

When they reach the kitchen Sherlock waves John into a chair and takes the one across from him.

“John. Did you eat anything?” Sherlock asks carefully, and John fixes his eyes onto the dark wood of the table.

“Please don't misunderstand.” Sherlock continues, wishing for all the world that he could reach across the table and lift John’s chin and gaze. This beautiful blond boy with the deep blue eyes and the bowed head.

“I only ask because, from what I’ve seen, you’ve not had _anything_ and however early it is I had assumed you would like a snack at the very least.” he explains and the furrow over John’s brow releases, making Sherlock want to run his fingertips over the smooth skin of John’s face.

“John you may eat absolutely anything here that you see. Nothing is off limits, and under no circumstances will you ever be scolded or punished for nourishing your body. Are we quite clear on that?” he finishes, and John finally locks eyes with him, the deep sapphire colour of them pulling Sherlock in, tempting him to drown in that clear, shining gaze.

“There you are. You don't owe anyone submission John. Look me in the eyes when we speak. You have no reason to ever divert your gaze” he adds, and John can't help the light flush that steals over his cheeks.

“Now, how about sandwiches?” he asks, and John laughs and nods.

“Yes, a sandwich would be great.” he says, tone bright and easy. Comfortable again, like he’s found his footing in Sherlock’s words.

“Good then, let’s eat.”

***

The man sat rigidly in the back of the cab, a neatly typed letter clutched tightly in one dirty hand. The letter was simple but well done enough to convince the man he was about to win the prize of a lifetime.

Mr. Watson senior peered out the window as the cab left the major city and entered an area of huge sprawling houses set far back from the road. A smile tugged at the mean set of his mouth, finally he was going to get the treatment he was owed, what he couldn’t get from his stupid wife- god rest her- and his wastes of children. 

The cab stopped in front of a large pair of worth iron gates and Watson hopped out, pleased the long trip had been covered by the prize giver. 

Trotting up to the large gates he felt at a loss over what to do, surely someone should have been waiting for him? He jumped when a voice sounded to his right.

“Good even Mr. Watson,” a smooth voice said from a sleek intercom speaker embedded in the wall beside the gate. “I’ve opened the gates for you, do come on through.”

Sure enough the gates glided open, letting him into the dark grounds beyond. A tiny shiver of apprehension went down his spine as he took in the deserted grounds, but he ignored it. He was sure he could take on these posh gits of it came to it. 

He steps up to the door and just before he can bring his fist down on it with a harsh _thump_ , it swings open.

“Mr. Watson. I'm so glad you could accept our invitation. Please, come in,” said a tall bloke, with thinning auburn hair, and a full three piece suit on.

He looked down at himself and wondered briefly if he was underdressed. 

Then he reminded himself that he didn't have anything to prove to these posh brats, and if they didn't like his clothes well too bad, he was the contest winner, so they could just shove it.

Another man strode in. He was tall as well, with dark curly hair and high, angular cheekbones. 

“Good evening Mr Watson,” he said with a decidedly unfriendly smile. 

Mr Watson swallowed, and glanced nervously between the two men, while something deep in his gut told him he’d just made a grave mistake. 

****

John’s eyes snap open as the flat door bangs shut. For a moment he’s terrified, thinking it's his father home from the pub and spoiling for a fight. Then everything comes rushing back; being beaten by his father, running to Sherlock, the kind words in the kitchen. He takes a deep breath and tries to calm down. He’s fine. 

He hears footsteps approaching his door and can’t help but curl up tighter, instinct telling him to hide.

“John?” Sherlock’s soft voice comes through the door. “Could you come out? I have news.”

“Y-yeah, I’m coming.” John rasps, cringing at the weakness of his voice. 

He waits until he hears Sherlock walk away before he slides out of bed and follows. He finds Sherlock in the kitchen, making tea and still dressed in the same sharp suit from earlier.

“Sit down John,” Sherlock says in that same soft voice, setting a steaming cup in front of him. John curls his hands around the mug, glad for the warmth. 

“I wanted to talk to you about your father.”

Immediately John tenses up, so much for a comforting cuppa. 

“Are you- are you sending me back?” he whispers before he can stop himself.

John watches Sherlock visibly resist the urge to sigh and prepares himself for the worst. He lifts his chin and puts steel in his spine, determined to take the news without crumbling in on himself.

“Of course I'm not sending you back John, please don't think quite so little of me.” Sherlock says in a gentle tone.

“I’ve just been thinking that I’m not quite comfortable sending you away to figure things out on your own, but I'm not sure how comfortable you would be staying here until you get on your feet.” He says, as he leans back against the counter, deliberately putting himself in John’s eyeline so as not to accidentally spook him.

“So if you’re not sending me away, what did you want to say to me about my dad?” John asks and Sherlock’s face twists into a mask of disgust at the thought of the man.

“You will never have to worry about _him_ again.” Sherlock rumbles out from low in his chest and John feels his chest go light.

“He’s gone?” John asks, and Sherlock can't help himself.   
He simply can't resist. He takes two small steps forward and brushes long, gentle fingers through the short blond hairs of John’s fringe.

At the soft, tender touch, John Watson _breaks_.

He finds himself weeping, attempting to muffle his heaving sobs behind his hand as everything he’s ever endured with his father bubbles over at the notion that he’s finally _free_.

It's a matter of moments before John’s enveloped in Sherlock’s arms, weeping into the breast pocket of his jacket, and clutching his lapels like a lifeline to a drowning man.

“He can't hurt you anymore.” Sherlock whispers against his ear, pulling John tighter to him when the words fail to soothe.

“You’re safe John. Please believe me, you are safe here.” He murmurs, resisting the urge to press a gentle kiss to John’s temple.

John Watson has dealt with enough, now is not the time for kisses he never asked for. 

“And I can stay here? With you? Until I can find my own place?” John asks, hiccuping softly.

“You may stay here for as long as you like and longer.” Sherlock promises, and isn’t shocked when John presses up on his toes and buries his face in Sherlock’s throat.

“Thank you.” He whispers against the shell of Sherlock ear, before pulling out of the embrace. 

“Of course John.” Sherlock responds, removing his now soaked jacket and tossing it over the back of a chair.

“Anything you need.”

John cringes at the sight of Sherlock’s stained jacket. 

“I’m sorry, I’ll have it dry cleaned first thing tomorrow,” he says, nervously twisting his fingers together.

Everything in Sherlock wants to pull John back into his arms and curl around him until he calms down, but he knows it wouldn’t be appreciated. John Watson is not a boy who likes to be coddled.

He places his hand on John’s shoulder instead, and gives it a squeeze. 

“Don’t worry about it little- John. It’s fine,” Sherlock swears at himself at the near slip. Now certainly wasn’t the time. 

Although the thought of John being his little one isn’t unappealing in the least. 

He shakes his head to dislodge the thought, now _definitely _wasn’t the time to think about that.__

__“How about we drink our tea in front of telly?” Sherlock says, surprising himself with such a mundane suggestion._ _

__It has the desired effect however, John’s shoulders relax slightly and he nods, carefully picking up his cup and waiting for Sherlock to lead him to the living room. Clearly, he wasn’t at home in Sherlock’s flat yet, but hopefully John would want to stay long enough for that to change._ _

__Grabbing his own mug, Sherlock leads the way._ _

__***_ _

__“Enjoying yourself Mr Watson?” Mycroft purrs, crossing one leg smoothly over the other._ _

__The man in question looks up at him through tear filled eyes, his mouth filled with food he refuses to swallow. Not after what this posh mad man told him was in it._ _

__Behind him, a burly man held his shoulders forcing him to stay in his seat._ _

__“I suggest you swallow Mr Watson, my...associate here has ways of getting that down your throat that were certainly never meant to be pleasant.”_ _

__Watson glared at him a moment, before spitting his mouthful viously at him._ _

__“Ah well, if that’s how you want it to go.” He glances casually over his shoulder, “Dr Milton, bring the tubing please.”_ _

__Another man seems to bleed out of the shadows, a leather bag in his hands. Mr Watson’s face blanches as realization dawns._ _

__“Jason the restraints if you would, he’ll most likely struggle,” his eyes lock with Mr Watson’s, “They all do.”_ _

__Before Watson can comprehend what’s happening, the man behind him has one wrist strapped to the arm his chair. He starts to struggle violently as the man reaches for the other wrist._ _

__It’s useless._ _

__The fight drains out of him as he watches the doctor unpack his bag._ _

__Long plastic tubing, forceps, and something that looks like a...vice._ _

__“It’s to keep your mouth open for Dr Milton,” the man in the suit says calmly. “A ring bit I believe it’s called. This particular model is rare. You see it was discontinued due to the _discomfort _it caused patients. Luckily the good doctor here is very resourceful.”___ _

____“Please- why- why are you doing this!” Watson cries as a leather strap binds his head to the back of his chair._ _ _ _

____His eyes widen as the doctor approaches, grinding open the ring bit, his eyes frighteningly cold._ _ _ _

____“Because Mr Watson,” the man says as the doctor begins his work, “I can.”_ _ _ _

____From the sounds of Mr Watson’s screams, Mycroft doubts he’s been heard._ _ _ _

____During a small break in the festivities, Mycroft decides he’s had enough and turns on his heel, when an idea strikes him and won't let go._ _ _ _

____“Oh, and Mr. Watson?” He says, smiling cruelly when the man’s red, pained eyes meet his own._ _ _ _

____“John sends his love.”_ _ _ _


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John gets comfy at the flat and Sherlock helps him out.

_Hands, grabbing, pulling, yanking at his hair, his clothes. Ripping, tearing at his flesh. John falls onto his side curling up as instinct taught him as a heavy boot slams into his side over and over. A scream works its way up his throat. The boot kicks him over and over. He can’t take any more, can’t breathe- can’t breathe- can’t-_

***

John’s eyes snap open wide, a gasp clawing its way out his mouth. For a second he panics, thinking he’s back home and his father is in one of his rages. It only takes a moment for reality to set in, he’s at Sherlock’s flat, safe- well safe so far- and far away from his father. 

Taking a deep breath he sits up slowly, wincing at the dull ache in his ribs, and scrubs a hand over his face. His back is damp with sweat, his throat parched. 

Sighing, he swings his legs over the side of the bed and squints at the clock. 3:35, naturally he’d dream about his father during the witching hour. It fit the bastard perfectly. 

He pads quietly to the door and eases it open. The outer hallway is empty and John makes sure to be as quiet as possible as he heads for the kitchen. Sherlock had told him he could move around the flat as he pleased, but old habits were hard to break. 

After gulping down two glasses of water and washing his glass, he heads into the living room. He knows sleep won’t make a reappearance tonight. He stops short when he sees Sherlock perched in one of the wingback chairs, his laptop on his knees and a stack of books piled on the table next to him. 

Sherlock looks up before John can sneak out, and the boy feels his face heat as Sherlock’s eyes lock onto him.

“Oh, I’m sorry Sherlock! I-I didn’t mean to-

“It’s alright,” Sherlock says smoothly, a tiny smile touching his lips. “I’m just doing research for a case.” His eyes scan John, running up and down his body, “Bad dream?” he asks.

John nods, still hovering uncertainty in the doorway. Interruptions in his house _never _went well.__

__Sherlock eyed him for a moment more, before shutting his laptop and setting it aside._ _

__“I was about to take a break and watch a bit of telly. I could use some company,” Sherlock said, standing up and stretching. John swallowed, unsure why his face suddenly felt warmer than usual._ _

__“Sure, telly is fine. As long as I’m not-_ _

__“You aren’t bothering me, you have my word.”_ _

__John shuffles his feet, his fingers twisting around themselves as he fidgets nervously._ _

__“Come and sit, you can choose what we watch.” Sherlock coaxes gently and John lifts his head and gives a small nod before walking on silent feet to the couch and perching uncomfortably on the very edge._ _

__Sherlock stifles a sigh and decides to relax John much more organically._ _

__He passes John the remote and settles back into his chair, watching John while John watches the telly, flipping through channels as he searches for something that strikes his fancy._ _

__A flash of blond hair and a dark suit and Sherlock watches John’s eyes brighten, and his body lean forward slightly as he becomes excited. A small grin breaks out over his face and he sets the remote on the table in front of him._ _

__Then he grabs it back up and hands it to Sherlock._ _

__“I’m sorry. We don’t have to watch this if you don’t want to,” he says and Sherlock frowns._ _

__“I did tell you that you could choose whatever you liked John. Please, watch your spy movie,” he says with a smile and John gasps back at him with a playfully enraged grin._ _

__“Spy?! Jones Bond isn’t just a spy. He’s _the_ spy, thank you very much. And don’t you forget it Sherlock Holmes,” he says with a firm nod, blue eyes twinkling mischievously through blond lashes, cheeks a soft pink. _ _

__That something as small as being allowed to choose the movie could give him that look makes Sherlock angry and grateful all at once, and he resolves himself to seeing to it that John Watson not do any more struggling in his lifetime._ _

__He’s had quite enough of that._ _

__He fights down the almost overwhelming urge to cup that face and brush his thumbs over the rose pink flush coloring those cheeks. Sherlock wonders if this is what people mean when they call themselves smitten._ _

__Sherlock smiles and rolls his eyes._ _

__“Oh of _course_ ,” Sherlock drawls, his grin easy and gentle. “How could I _possibly_ be so careless as to address him otherwise?” he asks as he watches John slowly slip back further and further into the sofa as the moments tick by._ _

__John chuckles quietly and his shoulders shake with the motion, and it’s all Sherlock can do not to stand and drag a finger across the broad planes of the rippling muscles._ _

__“I never knew you could be capable of such disrespect.” John chides with a smile and Sherlock can’t help but laugh._ _

__He can’t remember the last time someone thought him incapable of disrespect._ _

__“That’s not what most people say,” he responds, still chuckling lightly._ _

__“What do most people say?” John asks, eyes leaving the telly screen to catch Sherlock’s eyes._ _

__“Piss off,” he replies seriously, and together the two of them burst into giggles. John’s high and bubbly, Sherlock’s low and rumbling._ _

__“Come and sit here on the couch with me.” John offers, and Sherlock stands and moves to the sofa where he sits, leaving a nice, safe distance between them, so as not to frighten John._ _

__“You couldn’t possibly see the best spy of all time well from that corner,” John explains and Sherlock smiles._ _

__“My vision is excellent from all angles,” he replies haughtily, and John just grins._ _

__“Yeah yeah, but you can still see better from here than you could from there, and that’s all that really matters, now quiet!” John hushes gently. “The ads are over!” he finishes, finally resting his head against the back of the couch and relaxing._ _

__And so Sherlock says nothing, because he doesn’t want to interrupt the quiet moment. He just sits on the couch and watches the terrible movie about an awful spy and laughs when John does._ _

__Out of the corner of his eyes he sees John relax more and more as the movie progresses, and Sherlock can’t help but smile. The young man has only been here two days, yet Sherlock can sees he’s already doing a little better. He’s under no illusions though, he knows John has a long road of recovery ahead, but it’s nice to see him be able to relax and enjoy something as simple as watching a stupid film on the telly._ _

__The film goes on and as the blindingly obvious double agent is finally revealed. Sherlock sees John pull his feet up onto the couch and curl against the armrest. He can’t help but smile at how… cute John looks huddled up the way he is._ _

__Sherlock rarely thinks anything is cute. Let alone any _one_._ _

__When the ‘Bond Girl’ and Bond finally kiss after Bond utters an inane one liner, John has fallen asleep._ _

__Sherlock looks at him, holding very still so as to not wake the young man up. John’s blond hair is tousled, his head resting against one arm and his lips slightly parted in sleep. Sherlock can’t help but think of a tiny animal curled up in a den. Warm and cozy and most importantly...safe._ _

__He swallows hard, and slowly stands. Snagging the throw from his other chair he carefully drapes it over John, and dims the light. The last thing he wants is for John to wake up in total darkness in a strange place._ _

__Clicking off the television, he takes one last look at John cuddled up in the couch._ _

__“Good night, John,” Sherlock murmurs, before quietly to his own room._ _

__***_ _

__John picks up a tray of mugs and settles it into the counter for the start of his shift, then turns and stacks the paper to go cups when the bell on the door rings, signaling someone’s entrance._ _

__He turns with a genuine smile that grows in size as he realizes who his first customer of the day is._ _

__“Sherlock! What are you doing here?” He asks with amiable surprise in his voice that causes Sherlock to chuckle, the sound low, deep, and smooth like honey coated chocolate._ _

__“I’m a very busy man John. I have to keep my energy up, which means I need my morning coffee,” he replies with a grin._ _

__John turns and presses the button on the coffee machine, watching as smooth brown liquid begins to slowly fill the pot._ _

__They stand in comfortable silence, listening to the sound of coffee splashing gently into the pool already accumulated in the carafe as the smell of freshly ground dark roasted coffee beans spreads through the room._ _

__When the pot finishes filling John grabs a to go cup and fills it with dark, over brewed coffee, then adds two large spoons of sugar._ _

__“On the house.” He says with a smile as he caps the cup and hands it over to an already mentally grimacing Sherlock._ _

__He had almost forgotten how bad John’s coffee is._ _

__Sherlock accepts the cup with a forced smile and forced himself not to make a face at the first sip of the hot drink._ _

__Overly sweet and bitter all at the same time. He determines that John will have to be taught to make a good cup of coffee in the near future, but for now he can suffer through it._ _

__As Sherlock walks to his usual table, leaving John to deal with the man behind him, he can’t help but think about all the _incentives_ he has to help John learn._ _

__The line at the counter grows and to kill time, Sherlock finds his mind wandering to his favourite toy; a slim remote controlled vibrator. As he watches John moving around behind the counter he imagines what it would be like if the vibe was in John now._ _

__The rush he’d feel knowing that although John was working and dealing with people at any moment Sherlock could have him shaking. He could click it on while John bent over to pick up some fallen change, while he stretched to get cups, or even while he was just standing there, waiting for the next customer. And it would be because John let him. He’d have John’s willingness and enthusiasm because he trusted Sherlock, he was willing to let the man hold his need in his hands._ _

__Of course, Sherlock mused, he’d have to buy John a brand new toy. Maybe in a lovely dark blue, the colour would suit John so well…_ _

__“Sherlock?”_ _

__Blinking lazily, Sherlock came back to reality to find John standing before him, holding a rag._ _

__Sherlock gave him a lazy smile, not the least bit embarrassed to have the object of his fantasies before him. Sherlock doesn’t _do_ embarrassment. _ _

__“I have a bit of free time,” he gestured to the girl behind the counter, “my friend can cover the counter during a lull.”_ _

__Sherlock gave John a little smile and gestured to the empty seat across from him._ _

__“Be my guest John.”_ _

__John grinned and sat down._ _

__“So,” John fidgeted with the rag in his hands, seeming almost shy, “Are you on another case?”_ _

__“No, I just wanted to see my favourite barista is all,” Sherlock drawled, smiling to himself as John blushes. “I have a potential client coming for an interview this afternoon. Hopefully they aren’t dull.”_ _

__“Heaven forfend,” John said, smiling._ _

__“What about you?” Sherlock said, for once actually wanting to hear about someone’s day, instead of asking on autopilot._ _

__John lets out a tired sigh, “Three more hours of work, then two lectures, and then...” he hesitates. Clearly he thinks what he’s about to say might upset Sherlock._ _

__Sherlocks keeps his posture relaxed and face neutral. The last thing he wants is to make John skittish._ _

__“I-um- I’ll need to start looking for a place to stay.”_ _

__John is looking at the table by the time he finishes and Sherlock wishes Mr Watson were still alive so he could murder him all over again._ _

__“It’s not that I’m not grateful for all your help,” John rushes on,”I still want us to be- to be friends! I just think it would be best if I get my own place. I don’t want to impose.”_ _

__“It’s no imposition John. I assure you. But if it’s what will make you more comfortable I know someone who may be able to help.” Sherlock says, mentally flying through his list of contacts._ _

__“Oh, I-_ _

__“It’s no trouble I assure you,” Sherlock cuts in._ _

__He honestly wants to help. Plus he can’t help but shudder at the thought of the kinds of places John could end up in based on his salary._ _

__“I know a very kind woman who gives lower rates to students who can keep up a certain GPA. If you can maintain a 3.0 she’ll give you an excellent bargain on an even better flat. Is that something that would interest you?” Sherlock asks even as he watches the grin spread over John’s lips._ _

__“That sounds amazing Sherlock! I could really do well with an opportunity like that!” he exclaims happily._ _

__“Yes. I think so too.” Sherlock says with a gentle smile before tapping out a quick message on his phone._ _

__“Just a few minutes wait.” He says as he sets his phone down and looks back across the table at John._ _

__“Can I ask that you stay with me until we find you a suitable flat?” Sherlock asks softly. “I hate to think of you anywhere that could cause you harm or bring danger into your life. You deserve to feel safe John, and I hope that you know that you are always safe with me.” He finishes, smiling internally at the flush that spreads across that boyish face, those deep blue eyes peering up at him through that messy blonde fringe._ _

__“Yes. Thank you Sherlock. I think I’d like that very much.”_ _

__John stands and pushes his chair in, ready to get back to work and prepare himself for his school day and Sherlock mimics his movement._ _

__“I’ll see you back at the flat later.” Sherlock says low enough that only John can hear, and after a quick shared smile, he’s gone and John finishes his shift with a smile._ _

__***  
That night John finds himself walking quickly down a busy street, the wind biting at him through his shabby coat. He really needs a new one, but can’t justify the expense in his given situation. _ _

__He rounds the corner and the resturant Sherlock wants to meet him at comes into view. He swallows as he takes the place in. It’s fancier than he thought, with huge arched windows and a uniformed valet out front._ _

__He sees Sherlock smoking and leaning against one of the marble pillars that flanks the entrance. He watches the man take a long drag and smoothly exhale smoke into the night, and if John is being totally honest with himself, he looks dead sexy doing it. The rest of the man doesn’t disappoint clad in his usual close cut suit and long coat._ _

__“Ah John,” Sherlock says with a smile. “I’m glad you found the place easily.”_ _

__John’s own grin fades as a woman in a sleek cocktail dress enters the restaurant behind Sherlock. It’s suddenly very clear he’s woefully under dressed. It's not like he normally comes to places like this. And his father definitely would have never bought him anything appropriate for this place._ _

__“Don’t worry about it,” Sherlock says, guiding John into the restaurant with a large hand on his lower back. “I know the owner personally. They’ll bend over backward for me here.”_ _

__He shot John a wink as a waiter led them to their table._ _

__Sherlock pulled out John’s chair before circling the table to sit across from him, grinning internally at the small flush on his face from the gesture._ _

__He loves and hates how little expectation John has of him, but he’s determined to show John that he can be himself and have absolutely nothing to fear._ _

__The waiter sets their menus on the table and drifts away while they pursue their options._ _

__John looks down at the menu without prices, and knows the food here is more expensive than anything he’s had. He resolves to order a salad, he can’t afford to repay Sherlock for anything else and he knows what happens when you get more than you have to give._ _

__Sherlock watches John’s eyes go as wide as the dinner plates they’ll be served on, and sighs quietly. Just before he can tell John to order anything he likes, Angelo makes his way to their table with a large grin._ _

__“Sherlock! It’s so good to see you my friend! And with such lovely company!” He exclaims, making Sherlock struggle to keep from laughing at John’s dumbfounded expression._ _

__“Who gave you menus? How dare they!?” Angelo says annoyedly._ _

__“I will cook your meal personally, with my best, freshest ingredients! I’ll be back soon with delicious meals for you and your date.”_ _

__John opens his mouth to tell the man they they aren’t dating, but before he can get a word out Sherlock speaks._ _

__“Thank you Angelo, I’m sure we’ll love whatever you bring us.” He says with a gracious dip of his head, and Angelo scurries away._ _

__John’s cheeks go red all over again and Sherlock has to stop himself reaching across the tabletop to stroke the color blooming against that golden skin._ _

__A waiter sets a basket of various rolls and breadsticks before them, and Sherlock waves his hand as if to tell John to take his pick._ _

__John snags a buttery looking roll and nibbles on the corner of it, peeking up at Sherlock through his fringe and long blond lashes, ocean blue eyes glinting in the candlelight._ _

__Sherlock is just about to do something stupid, like tell John how beautiful he is, when his phone saves him by vibrating in his pocket._ _

__He reaches into his chest pocket and peers down at the screen and then smiles._ _

__“The friend I was telling you about, Mrs. Hudson, she has an available flat she’d like you to come take a look at in the morning. I’d suggest taking a copy of your grades and current gpa, so that if you like it, you can begin to put plans in order.” He informs John, and his chest goes warm when John smiles sat him, big and bright and beautiful._ _

__“Already!?” He exclaims in a hushed voice._ _

__Sherlock chuckles amusedly._ _

__“Yes, already.”_ _

__“That’s, that’s _great_ Sherlock! Tell her thank you and yes I’d be delighted to come and have a look!” He says, nearly bouncing in his chair with excitement._ _

__Just then Angelo returns with two large shallow dishes, brimming with spinach ravioli and parmesan cheese._ _

__“Alright.” Sherlock responds “Let’s eat, and we can talk more about it in the way back to the flat.”_ _

__“Thank you so much Sherlock!” John says earnestly, and it takes all of Sherlock’s willpower no to kiss that wide smile._ _

__My god, he’s _besotted_._ _

__He takes a bite of raveloi and winks at John. still smiling, John stabs into his food and takes a bite. His eyes widen at the taste and he chews slowly, licking a bit cheese off his lower lip._ _

__“My god Sherlock, the food is amazing!”_ _

__If Sherlock thought the smile was tempting, this is much worse. John’s words are practically a moan. Hopefully he’ll have John moaning the way he wants in the near future. His thoughts must show on his face somewhat because John’s cheek darken and his eyes drop to his plate._ _

__“Well I mean, it’s the best ravioli I’ve had is all,” he says quietly._ _

__“Don’t worry John, I love hearing your reactions,” Sherlock says lowly, with a smirk._ _

__John glances up at him, his eyes wide. His blush darkens when he takes in the knowing look on Sherlock’s face._ _

__The rest of the meal passes with easy conversation about John’s school and Sherlock’s funner case stories. Much to Sherlock’s delight John orders the chocolate mousse for desert and Sherlock gets to watch him moan over the cream while he enjoys his own tiramisu._ _

__They’re heading out of the restaurant when Sherlock’s phone buzzes again._ _

__“Mrs Hudson agreed to see us after your last lecture tomorrow,” Sherlock says, “She also says you sound like a perfect candidate for a tenant._ _

__John smiles up at him as they walk to the corner for a cab. “Thank you again Sherlock. Really, I-“_ _

__He trails off and then Sherlock feels the shock of warm arms around him as John pulls him into hug. Sherlock stands frozen for three whole seconds before his own arms are winding around John’s upper torso and back. John’s body is warm against his, and the boy’s bond hair tickles the underside of his chin._ _

__“Honestly John, it’s my pleasure,” he says softly._ _

__John gives him a squeeze in response, before letting go, and Sherlock thanks his lucky stars Mrs Hudson agreed to let him pay three-quarters of John’s rent on the sly._ _

__***_ _

__Usually during cab rides, Sherlock would occupy himself with his phone. Now he’s found something much more entertaining; watching John Watson._ _

__John was staring idly out the cab window. Well to anyone else it would seem idle, but Sherlock knew better. John is watching _him _, and Sherlock loves it. That may make him vain, but he couldn’t care less. Sherlock smirks to himself as John glances at his reflection in the cab window and licks his lips. Sherlock mirrors the gesture and sees John’s eyes widen ever so slightly. Evidence of his desire to kiss Sherlock is etched in his reflected features.___ _

____Oh this was _fun _.___ _ _ _

______Something stirs deep in Sherlock’s belly as he imagines how such a kiss would go. John would be so shy about it, so sweet. It would be up to Sherlock to take the lead, to hold John close and tip those soft lips up to his own. John would probably tremble against him and-  
“We’re ‘ere gents,” the cabbie says, pulling Sherlock from his thoughts. _ _ _ _ _ _

______He scowls at the man as he pays him and slides out of the cab after John._ _ _ _ _ _

______“I had a wonderful time, Sherlock,” John says, a yawn punctuating his words._ _ _ _ _ _

______“So did I John.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______Something of his desire must show, as John blushes, but instead of looking away as he usually does, John holds his gaze and gives Sherlock a wide smile. It’s beautiful._ _ _ _ _ _

______“Well, I have an early class tomorrow so I should-_ _ _ _ _ _

______John gestures to his room with a shy smile._ _ _ _ _ _

______“Ah yes of course. Good night John.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______John hesitates a moment, then leans in and gives Sherlock a quick hug. Sherlock sees the move coming and returns the hug, pulling John close._ _ _ _ _ _

______“Night Sherlock,” John says, hustling down the hall to his room, his face red, and Sherlock can only chuckle in response._ _ _ _ _ _

______***_ _ _ _ _ _

______Lips are warm against his own, soft and dry pressing gentle and tender, making John sigh and press up into the kiss, his arms closing around the neck of the man cradling his face in his hands._ _ _ _ _ _

______It isn’t until he breathes in a gasp at a small nip to his bottom lip that he realizes he’s been kissed awake, and he really should open his eyes and see _who_ exactly it is that’s kissing him quite so expertly. Just before he opens his eyes though, a hint of sage and sandalwood finds its way to him and he knows that it’s Sherlock. That’s the way the man smells when he leaves the shower in the morning, and John can admit, to himself at least, that he’s has some rather _indelicate_ thoughts about that scent._ _ _ _ _ _

______Sherlock’s tongue sweeps out to trail sweetly against the seam of John’s mouth, and John’s mouth is open to him before he can realize he’d given the man such access. John feels Sherlock smile into the kiss though and releases the anxiety. Sherlock likes that he’s eager, and there’s nothing wrong with enjoying this kiss._ _ _ _ _ _

______A long fingered hand drags down the front of John’s vest only to slither beneath it when he comes into contact with the soft skin of John’s hip._ _ _ _ _ _

______“Stop me now if you don’t want me to touch you John. You’re such a sweet thing. Let me know if you want me to stop.” And John tosses his head as the violin calloused fingertips swirl patterns just beneath his navel._ _ _ _ _ _

______“Please Sherlock.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______“Oh, that’s prettier than even _I’d_ imagined. One more time then, and I’ll get you all taken care of, yes?” Sherlock teases, but John just grips him tight and nods._ _ _ _ _ _

______“Please Sherlock. Please show me. I’ve never done this with a man before but I want to learn if you’ll tea-“_ _ _ _ _ _

______BEEP BEEP BEEP_ _ _ _ _ _

______BEEP BEEP BEEP_ _ _ _ _ _

______BEEP BEEP BEEP_ _ _ _ _ _

______John’s dream is cut short as his alarm blares and signals it's time to get up, shower, and get his day started._ _ _ _ _ _

______He blinks his eyes to clear his mind, trying to go recall the feel of pale skin against his, even as the skin on his lower belly still tingles with dream Sherlock’s touch._ _ _ _ _ _

______He closes his eyes and lies still, trying to will his erection away, but it’s morning, he’s male, and bloody _hell_ that dream just isn’t helping._ _ _ _ _ _

______John sighs and pokes his head out, then slips across the hall to the bathroom._ _ _ _ _ _

______Maybe if he’s quick about it, he can clean up the loo and Sherlock will never have to know._ _ _ _ _ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you all enjoyed it!

**Author's Note:**

> Please let us know what you think!


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